


Mauvais Sang

by Rattlesnake_Smile



Series: Of Suits and Hoodies [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fushion Fic, Gen, M/M, Multi, Will Not Be Continuing, Witch Stiles Stilinski, permanent hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3387386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rattlesnake_Smile/pseuds/Rattlesnake_Smile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus Mikaelson returned to New Orleans and found himself embroiled in a plot by a coven of witches to take down Marcel, a former protégé of his who was king of the city.  Against his better judgment, Klaus gets involved, but with ulterior motives of his own.  His siblings also join the fight, as well as some unsuspecting teenagers with secrets of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long, LONG time coming. I've been working on this for over a year, outlining each chapter and how it'll all come together in the end. If you're just tuning into this for the Elijah/Stiles ship, you're going to be waiting a while because it's going to be a slow burn over the course of the whole story and I can't even guarantee that it'll work out in the end. 
> 
> Just some basic stuff to get everyone up to speed, I made the werewolves all like how they are on The Originals and The Vampire Diaries, but with the added benefit of being able to pass on the change via the Bite. I'll explain it more as the story progresses, which is going to be a blend of the Teen Wolf characters and their development throughout the first season of The Originals. Oh, and Stiles is a Deveraux witch. His mother Claudia, in my story, is the older sister of Jane-Anne and Sophie so we'll get to see Stiles hopefully kick some ass.

When I say New Orleans, what do you think of?

Most would say the French Quarter, with it's flashing lights, free-flowing booze, Jazz music and the grotesque Mardi Gras celebrations. Very few would turn their imaginations across the river to Algiers. Not quite as old as the Quarter, but just as rich in history and culture. A lot of families preferred the more subtle life, one of hard work and backyard barbeques as opposed to the constant parties and drunken binges.

One such family was small, consisting of just a mother and her teenage son. She was one of the chief doctors of the city, working hard to raise her son, especially after his father just left town. That son was currently sitting on his bed, bare back to his window where the nearly full moon was rising over the Mississippi River. That bare back was bent diligently to his task, which was reknitting the lacrosse stick in his hand. Once finished with his task, he tested it by gently thrusting his fist into the net before placing it uoon his bed next to him. The young man moved toward the door that connected his bedroom to his private bathroom. At the top of the doorway was a pull-up bar, one which he quickly grasped and did a series of shirtless pull-ups.

How very hetero-jock... or homo jock. Well, just a jock.

After doing his reps, he let himself drop to the floor and take a moment to catch his breath, of which he was slightly out of. Once his breathing was again under control, he padded across cold tile on smooth, dark feet, approaching the sink. Opening the cabinet behind the mirror, he pulled out his toothbrush and toothpaste, quickly brushing his teeth and rinsing out his mouth as he got ready for bed. Spitting out the mouthwash, he splashed some water on his face before abruptly standing.

He'd heard a noise coming from his open window. A noise different from the cars on the street, the boats on the river, or the Jazz across it. Almost like something was moving on the roof of his house. Something big.

A few minutes later found this young man - Scott - out on his house's wrap-around porch, now dressed in jeans and a red hoodie, a baseball bat in his hand and the faint breeze ruffling his mass of thick brown curls. Ever-so-slowly, Scott crept forward, ears straining for the slightest sound. Hearing something, like vines rustling, Scott moved closer to the edge of the porch where an ancient oak draped with Spanish Moss bumped against the side of the house, it's branches scraping the porch's roof.

The leaves twitched again.

Scott raised the bat higher in a white-knuckled grip, his heart pounding in his ears. He was ready to put the hurt on whatever murderer, rapist or squirrel was trying to break in.

One step closer...

... and a body dropped form the branches, hanging upside down.

Scott screamed.

The body screamed.

They both screamed.

When Scott took a (hard) breath to scream again, he realized he recognized the body.

"Stiles, what the hell are you doing?" Scott shouted at his best friend, who's foot was obviously stuck in the branches, which attributed to his imitation of a bat.

"You weren't answering your phone." Stiles answered simply once he realized it was just Scott and not his mother. His whiskey brown eyes darted to the baseball bat in his friend's hands. "Why do you have a bat?"

"Scott looked at the piece of sports equipment in his hand before lowering it. "I thought your were a predator."

"A pre-" Stiles stopped to laugh. "Look. I know it's late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. Half the police from the city and even some state troopers are looking for something.

"For what?" Scott asked, his big brown eyes trained on his friend.

"Two joggers found a body in the bayou." The paler teen said before swinging himself up to free his foot from the branches. Once free, he allowed himself to drop down into the leaves beside the porch.

"A dead body?" Scott asked, apprehensive.

"No, a body of water." Stiles said sarcastically as he hoisted himself over the railing to stand next to Scott on the porch.

"You mean like... murdered?" Scott's tone was growing more doubtful.

"Nobody knows yet." Stiles informed him, hands placed on his hips while he took a breath. "Just that it was a girl. Probably in her twenties."

"Hold on." Scott interrupted, now confused. "If they found her body, then what is everyone looking for?"

"That's the best part." Stiles was practically giddy with excitement. "They only found half." He said with a Cheshire Cat grin. Scott, for his part, raised both eyebrows. Stiles nodded in what he probably thought was an all-knowing, sage-like fashion, but was really kind of douchey.

"We're going."

 

**-oOo-**

 

A beat up old blue Jeep pulled up to the chained up dirt road that led deeper into the bayou, to the parts where no car could actually go. Behind the vehicle, the lights of New Orleans were just a faint glow upon the horizon. The headlights lit up the rusted "NO ADMITTANCE" sign hanging from the chains before the engine was promptly shut off, killing the lights. Less than a minute later, both doors opened, Stiles and Scott hopping out.

"We're seriously doing this?" Scott asked his impulsive friend, attempting to play the voice of reason. He pulled his hood up over his head as thunder rumbled overhead.

"You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens around here." Stiles pointed out, easily hoping the chains that barred his way.

"I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow." Scott tried, following his friend even as he tried to dissuade him.

"Right, 'cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort." Stiles scoffed. Leaving the Jeep and the dirt road behind, Scott and Stile set off into the bayou proper, moving through the trees, the dead leaves at their feet rustling with each step.

"No, because I'm playing this year." Scott fired back. "In fact, I'm making first line."

"Hey, that's the spirit. Everyone should have a dream." Stiles agreed enthusiastically before he muttered under his breath. "... even a pathetically unrealistic one." Scott shakes his head but follows his friend regardless, by now used to his cynicism. He'd been that way for the past eight years, ever since his mother died. One would think Scott would be the same way, considering his father 'disappeared' just before that, but he remained hopefully optimistic about almost everything. Both boys remained silent as they navigated the tricky forest floor of the bayou, trying not to trip over the invisible network of roots from the oaks and cypress trees around them as well as trying not to fall into the hidden swamp pools. A question floated into Scott's mind, causing him to break the silence.

"Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?"

"Huh?" Stiles paused, stopping where he stood. "I didn't even think about that." Shaking his head to get rid of any nagging doubts, Stiles started forward again, a grinning Scott at his back.

"And, what if whoever killed the body is still out here?"

Stiles paused again. "Also something I didn't think about." The moving forward started quicker this time, until the childhood best friends reached a steep, leaf-covered hill that they started to climb, Scott lagging behind. When he spoke again, he was struggling for breath.

"It's comforting to know you've planned this out..." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "... with you usual level of detail."

"I know." Stiles agreed as he crested the hill. Behind him, Scott was struggling to keep up, his breathing growing more and more shallow.

"Hey. Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight, huh?" Scott said, wheezing. He reached into the pocket of his maroon hoodie, pulling out his inhaler and shaking it vigorously before bringing it to his lips and pressing the trigger. Vaporized medication rushed into his lungs, making it infinitely easier for him to breath. They're both over the hill now (not as in old, but as in literally over the hill), looking around, the beam from the flashlight in Stiles' hand slicing weakly through the darkness. Stiles abruptly dropped to the muddy ground, pulling Scott down with him.

"What?" Scott whispered harshly.

"I thought I saw something move." Stile whispered back, quickly turning off the flashlight to peer into the darkness, trying to force his eyes to adjust so that he could discern what he'd seen by what little moonlight broke through the trees. With squinted eyes, Stiles spotted something moving with incredible speed. So fast it was a blur. The only distinguishing feature Stiles was able to make out was that it was vaguely human shaped. Stiles was immediately up and chasing after what he'd seen, leaving Scott behind.

"Stiles!" Scott called after his friend, struggling to get to his feet. He quickly shook his inhaler and took another rejuvenating hit before taking off after Stiles. "Wait up! Stiles!"

The two ran through the towering trees of the bayou, being whipped in the face by stray branches or bits of Spanish Moss. The longer the chase continued, the further Stiles got from Scott, his asthmatic friend starting to slow down. Add to that the twisting shadows and the faint moonlight and they inevitably lost each other. When Scott realized he couldn't see Stiles anymore, he slid to a stop on the slick leaves, searching the shadows for his best friend.

"Stiles!"

Further in the forest, Stiles hears the faint echoes of his friend's cry. Using a tree to stop himself, Stiles turned to look back the way he came, finding no trace of Scott and realizing he had absolutely no idea where he was.

"Scott!" The shout was accentuated by the flash of lightning and lost in the following crash of thunder. As it's faint echoes rumbled away, it began to rain.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Scott stumbled blindly through the underbrush of the bayou, the flashlight still with Stiles. Not long after he and Stiles were separated it had started to rain. Thankfully, for the moment at least, it wasn't raining hard, just enough that pulling his hood further forward protected him. As he wandered, trying to find a road or some cell service, the crickets chirped and the cicada's sang.

He was doing his best to remain calm, all things considered, jumping at every sound that assaulted his ears. Somewhere above him a bird took flight with a loud flap of it's wings. Scott closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, finding the bayou much less threatening than before when he opened them again. He withdrew his inhaler and shook it lazily, checking the gloom for the faint glow of New Orleans. Just as he raised the inhaler to his lips, a large herd of frightened deer burst through the foliage.

"Ah!"

Scott shouted and immediately dropped to the leaf-strewn ground. He instinctively curled into a ball, protecting his head from the dangerous hooves flashing through the air above him. One of the passing deer kicked the inhaler from his hand, sending it careening off into the bayou while Scott cowered on teh forest floor, waiting for it all to be over. Once the last of the deer had fled whatever had frightened them, Scott uncurled, peeking one brown eye out from under his arms to make sure the coast was clear. Seeing he was totally alone once again, he sat up, panting heavily as adrenaline coarsed through his veins.

"Shit." He mumbled under his breath, struggling to his feet. "My inhaler." Once on his feet, he pulled out his cellphone and turned it on, using the faint light from the screen to search through the dead leaves and fallen branches for his inhaler. When he didn't see it right away, he even started to use his hands to dig through the debris.

With a sigh, Scott turned around, crouched low so his screen could illuminate more of the ground. What he didn't expect to find was the body that he and Stiles had been looking for (even though they never expected to _actually_ find it). She couldn't have been much older than him, around twenty at the oldest, and aside from being dead, she didn't look that bad. You know, if you could look past the dead, vacant eyes, her gray, desiccated skin and the fact that she was missing the lower half of her body.

But other than that...

With a panicked shout, Scott flailed backward, tripping over an exposed root from a nearby tree. He tumbled backward, right over the side of a steep hill, rolling and rolling until he finally fell on flat and even ground A moment passed as he gathered his senses, letting the world stop spinning and righting itself. Reaching out, he grasped the branch of a fallen tree and used it to hoist himself to his feet, once again trying to figure out where he was.

While he was getting his bearings, there was sound behind him. A low animal-like growl came from the shadows, but it sounded wrong, almost as if the throat making it wasn't the right shape to make that particular sound. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Scott turned around, like you see in horror movies, turning to see what you really didn't want to see. What he saw was the faint silhouette of a man in the shadows. Before Scott could even comprehend what was happening, the Shadow Man was suddenly standing before him, moving with inhuman speed.

The only thing the frightened young man was able to discern was how _wrong_ the man's face was. Gaunt and almost skeletal, skin stretched tight over the bones of his face, veins protruding against the skin beneath eyes filled with blood. The last thing Scott saw before he closed his eyes were fangs glinting white despite the lack of illumination. He felt himself getting yanked forward, his head twisted roughly to the side, and the warm breath on his neck before...

... nothing.

No, seriously. Nothing.

One moment the man was there, the next he was not. Scott felt the pressure on his shoulder and neck vanish. When he opened his eyes, he saw the Man regaining his feet, growling at what Scott could only comprehend to be a wolf. A much larger than normal wolf, but a wolf nonetheless. The man hissed at the wolf, baring those fangs again, and as Scott watched, he became a blur of motion heading in the opposite direction. Running away.

But, before he could disappear completely, he came into focus again, having stopped not that far away. If Scott were to strain his eyes, he would see that there more wolves in the man's path. Realizing that he was cornered, the man sped back toward Scott, who finally came to his senses and tried to run. The next few seconds were a complete blur, Scott couldn't tell you what happened. All he remembered was hands upon him, wolves growling and snapping, a rush of over a dozen more wolves, a sharp pain in his side (he screamed - he can admit it) and then being tossed aside, away from the fight.

Scott rolled to his feet, the sheer terror helping him forget his medical condition. A quick glance showed Scott that the wolves were attacking something - the man! - on the forest floor, his limbs flashing as his screams pierced the night. Scott took all that in and fled, hoping he found a road to lead him home.

His wish was granted, as he found a paved road cutting through the bayou. And, as luck would have it, a car was approaching him just as the rain turned into a full on deluge. Running out into the road, waving his arms to try and flag their attention, Scott was force to jump out of the way as the vehicle narrowly avoided him, honking it's horn loudly as it continued to barrel down the road.

The dirtied and bloodied teenager regained his feet for the umpteenth time that night, watching through the curtain of rain as his only hope of reaching home soon disappeared around a corner.

 

**-oOo-**

 

"Scott?" Stiles called out again, swinging the crap flashlight back and forth, hoping his best friend would just happen to materialize out of the darkness and across the weak beam of light. Naturally he had no such luck, only realizing that the only thing he was accomplishing was getting himself more lost.

As he continued along, gnawing at his lower lip the same way guilt gnawed at his insides for dragging Scott into his latest hair-brained adventure. Just as he was bout to abandon all hope, he saw flashlights moving through the trees. He lowered his own and strained his eyes to see who else could be out in the bayou this late. His amber-brown eyes widened when he heard the crackle of police radio.

He dad _could not_ find him out here. He'd kill Stiles and get Scott grounded for life.

Quickly, Stiles turned off his own flashlight and took off in the opposite direction, trying to be as quiet as possible. He ate up the ground beneath him in his haste to "escape," glancing back every few seconds to see if anyone was following him. On one of these glances back, he missed a step, but instead of just falling to the ground, he kept falling, the earth giving away and casting him into a dark, muddy abyss, his startled shout echoing off the trees.

Groaning, Stiles rolled over in the muddy gloom, forcing himself to his feet before stumbling around blindly. On one of these passes, his hand smashed into what felt like a glass jar, the glass shattering and slicing the teenager's hand. Cursing, Stiles stumbled back, his bloody hand landing on what felt like the root of a tree, engravings raised against the surface beneath his palm. He stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust before stepping away.

What he now saw in the dim light was indeed tree roots, to something massive if one were going by the size. And there, glittering darkly in the wood was his blood from where his hand had rested.

Stiles took a deep breath, looking around to try and find his way out and finally, spotted it on the other side of whatever room or cavern he'd fallen into. A set of old and worn stairs led up to what looked like a cellar door. Picking his way gingerly through the mud, Stiles reached his destination, trying to not use his cut and bleeding hand. Climbing the steps, he reached the door and put his shoulder against the rotten wood, forcing it upon and letting in the fresh swamp air. Stiles climbed out of the hole, kicking the cellar door closed behind him before trying to turn and find his way home. The moment he turned around, he slid backward and fell on his ass as the scary-ass German Shepherd barked at him. Several flashlights were immediately aimed at him, blinding the eyes that had worked so hard to adjust to the darkness.

"Hold on!" a familiar voice called out. "This little delinquent's mine." Stiles watched as his father approached, looking so damn disappointed in his son.

"Hey, dad." Stiles tried meekly, but his dad wasn't buying it and reached down to hoist him to his feet.

"Save it, Stiles." His father growled. "I'm going to escort you back to your Jeep, you're going to go home and when I get there, w'ere going to have a long talk about listening in on my private phone calls."

As father hauled son away, Stiles caught a glimpse of what he'd thought would be a massive tree but was really just a mammoth tree stump. The last image he had of it was of a firefly crawling out from between cracks in the wood and glowing faintly.

 

**ONE YEAR LATER**

 

Four pallbearers picked up a large black coffin and carried it down Rue Dauphine. If one were to continue down that particular street, they would come across a restaurant popular to the locals named _Rousseau's_. Within the restaurant-slash-bar there were only a few patrons, what with it only being the early afternoon. There was a couple sitting in a booth near the back while two teenage boys sat at a table near the windows, doing their homework by the sunlight coming in the windows while pedestrians passed by.

They had changed a lot in the year since their misadventure in the bayou. Though still pale, Stiles had let his hair gown out from the stubble it had been. His shoulders had broadened from time at the gym and he'd planned himself down to lean, hard muscle. Gone were the loud t-shirts and ratty jeans, and in their place were button downs and fitted khakis.

Scott, on the other hand, had cut his mass of dark hair, rendering it short enough that it was just thick, no longer curly. His shirts were a bit bigger, but that was to compensate for all the muscle he'd packed on, particularly in his chest and arms and... well, pretty much everywhere. While he wasn't the Incredible Hulk or some roided up body-builder, he wasn't the scrawny little thing he'd been a year ago. He was still shorter than Stiles, but broader through the shoulders.

So here they were, a year after that night in the bayou, Stiles shoveling his bowl of gumbo into his mouth while Scott was going over their history assignment.

As they sat there, a young woman with long brown curls strode into the bar on boots with totally impractical heels. She approached the bar while simultaneously taking off her jacket, revealing her bare shoulders and a birthmark that resembled a crescent moon. Scott immediately stopped whatever he was writing to stare at the gorgeous stranger. Stiles, seeing his friend's intense stare, turned with a mouthful of food to look over his shoulder at the woman approaching the bar. Upon seeing who it was, he immediately swallowed his food and turned back to Scott, who now met his gaze.

"Third time in here this week." The bartender pointed out as she wiped a glass clean and the woman took a seat at the bar.

"I'm obsessed with the gumbo, Jane-Anne." The woman responded.

Jane-Anne smirked as she poured the patron a drink. "The old ladies in the Ninth Ward say my sister Sophie bleeds a piece of her soul into every dish." Both women turned their heads to look through the open door into the kitchen where a woman bearing a striking resemblance to the bartender Jane-Anne worked on cutting up vegetables.

"I asked around the Quarter about my family." The woman stated.

"And?"

"Nothing." She admitted. "Zero. I can't find a single person who remembers them."

"Because, Hayley, people like you were run out of here years ago." Jane-Anne informed her. Hayley's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What do you mean: 'People like me?'"

"In the bayou, they call werewolves rougaroux." Jane-Anne informed her, reaching down and pulling out a map from below the bar. She also pulled out a pen and circled a spot on the map. "You head out there, you'll find what you're looking for." Hayley stood up and downed the rest of her drink, ready to head straight out to the swamps. "But be careful." Jane-Anne's words halted her. "It's the last place you'd ever wanna go."

Hayley smiled and reached for her jacket, only to discover that it wasn't there. Turning around, she discovered that one of the teenage boys from the table by the window held it out for her.

"What a gentleman?" Hayley remarked, allowing Stiles to slide her jacket on her, his fingers sliding through her hair as he smoothed her collar.

"Oh, well, you know..." Stiles tried to be suave. "When a pretty lady needs some help." At the table he'd been sitting at, Scott thumped his head against the table-top, rattling the dishes and drawing the attention of everyone at the bar.

"Thanks, but you're a bit young for me." Hayley pointed out, picking up the map Jane-Anne had given her and going out the door without another word.

"It was nice meeting you." Stiles called after her. When he turned back toward the bar, he found the sisters Jane-Anne and Sophie looking at him, the former expectantly and the latter fearful. He held up his left hand to reveal a few strands of hair grasped between his fingers.

 

**-oOo-**

 

While Hayley was driving out of the city and into the bayou, Jane-Anne, Sophie, Stiles and Scott were walking through one of the famous New Orleans Cities-of-the-Dead: Lafayette Cemetery No. 1.

"I'm not so sure about this." Scott said as they turned down one of the walkways, the ladies in front looking like they knew where they were going.

"This is witch business, Scott." Jane-Anne snapped. "It doesn't concern you anyway."

"I'm just saying," Scott pointed out. "This is an innocent person's life we're messing with."

"If you don't want to be involved, go home." Jane-Anne stopped to stare down the teenager, who after a moment or two looked away. Satisfied she'd put him in his place, Jane-Anne set off again, the other three following her closely.

"He's right, Jane-Anne. Don't do it." Sophie pleaded. "What if I'm wrong about her?"

"That's the beauty of you: you're never wrong." Jane-Anne pointed out. "She's the only way we're going to get to Klaus."

"Are we sure that's even a good idea?" Stiles asked. "I mean, if even half the stories about this guy are true, he's not going to like us blackmailing him into assisting us." When the elder sister leveled her gaze upon him, he quickly looked down and mumbled "sorry" under his breath. They had reached their destination, a tomb with the name DEVERAUX carved into the face of it. She opened the bag at her side and began to pull out various supplies, setting them on the steps of the tomb among the nearly gutted candles already there, all melted together.

"Can we get someone else to do the spell?" Sophie tried.

"Who?" Jane-Anne countered. "Half the witches don't believe you and the other half are too scared."

"Because they know we're going to get caught, Jane-Anne!" Sophie exclaimed.

"Not we. Me." The elder sister clarified. "We don' t have any other option, Sophie." Jane-Anne tried to reason. "Now go. You know what you need to do." Sophie nods reluctantly, turning to look at the boys, who glanced at her before looking away simultaneously at the stray tear that ran down her cheek.

 

**-oOo-**

 

The sun had set and the moon was on the rise, and though it was not full, it was bright. Hayley pulled her Mustang off the main road and onto one of dirt that led into the bayou. She followed the path marked by Jane-Anne, the music turned down low so as to avoid any distraction.

Eventually she found herself at the spot circled on the map. But this couldn't be right. This was just a swamp. Nothing else around for miles. Jane-Anne wouldn't have tricked her, would she? Maybe she read the map wrong. Just to make sure, Hayley pulled out the map again to follow her path.

 

Jane-Anne stood before he family's crypt in Lafayette No 1. A small army of candles was set up on the steps of the tomb, along with various other materials and ingredients. If one didn't know any better, one would say this looked a lot like a witch's altar.

By the flickering light of the half-melted candles, Jane-Anne picked up a fresh pillar of wax engraved with various symbols and a name: Hayley Marshall. Using a lit match, she lit the candle and set it in the open center of the altar. With the same match, she lit another candle among the melted ones.

 

Hayley sat in the driver's seat, examining the map, retracing her steps. A map that suddenly, as if by magic, caught fire. Panicking, Hayley tossed the burning paper out the open window to let it burn to ash on the bayou floor. Realizing something was wrong, Hayley put the bar in reverse and proceed to back out.

 

_Jane-Anne placed a steaming chalice on the altar._

 

The Mustang had barely pulled back a few feet before it came to a shuddering halt with an unpleasant grinding sound. Smoke billowed out from under the hood of the vehicle.

"Are you kidding me?" Hayley exclaimed, slamming a fist against the steering wheel. With an aggravated huff, she opened the car door violently before stepping out onto the muddy earth in her totally impractical heels.

 

_Jane-Anne held an old, and worn smooth wooden bowl in her left hand, her right hand reaching in to grab handfuls of the ground-up contents within. With deft, practiced movements, the New Orleans native laid out the powder in a complex and complicated pattern around the candle she'd placed there earlier. All the while she was muttering under her breath in what sounded like French-Creole._

 

"Hey, I'm looking for a tow service." Hayley said into the cellphone passed against her ear, looking up toward the main road in the distance.

 

_Jane-Anne closed her eyes and hummed, still laying out her pattern._

 

The call dropped and was replaced by a high-pitched digital squeal. One so piercing that Hayley ripped the phone away from her ear and cast it to the ground. When the sound persisted, she stomped on it, effectively killing the signal and her only means of communication with the outside world.

Realizing that something not natural was going on here, she moved to get to the main road by foot, but stopped suddenly when she saw some shadowy silhouettes moving through the trees. Her body tense, ready for a fight, she quickly turned in the hopes of escaping in a different direction.

No such luck.

Menacing shadowy figures were slipping between the trees in almost every direction. Hayley took a deep breath, pulling her inner wolf to the surface. When she opened her eyes, they were wolf amber instead of her usual piercing green. She bound forward, knowing she only had a few minutes before her strength was sapped. However, before she could get far, two figures stepped into her path, causing her to stop abruptly and loose her control over her wolf.

Sophie Deveraux stood before her, along with the kid who'd tried to hit on her at the bar, both of them wearing grim expressions. With no choice but to go through them, Hayley prepared for a fight.

 

 _Jane-Anne raised the central candle from the alter and brought it before her face. "_ Somnus _." She whispered before blowing out the candle._

 

Hayley took a threatening step forward, only to falter before the second. She wavered where she stood before her eyes rolled back into her head and her legs gave out.

Her unconscious body fell backward to be caught at the last second by Scott, who gently lowered himself to the ground, cradling Hayley in his arms. He looked up at his best friend and the other witches, the beam of the flashlight in Sophie's hand glancing over his eyes, lighting them up like golden mirrors for a second. Once the beam of light passed, he directed his big brown eyes downward at Hayley, concern swirling in their depths.

The witches converged...


	2. The Dark Side of New Orleans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus comes to N'awlins seeking information of a plot against him, but finds much, much more than he ever could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna warn everyone that a lot of the dialogue is going to be similar to The Originals television series, because each chapter is going to be an episode from the show. That being said, not including the prologue, the first two chapters (this one and the next) are going to be almost exactly like they were on the show, but with me introducing the characters from Teen Wolf into them so that we can start heading in the right direction. As each chapter/episodes goes, while the plot will remain pretty much the same, a lot will also change, including who's behind it all. So bear with me for a while and let me know what you think.

_For a thousand years my family has walked this earth. The Original Vampires, the first of our kind. Hated and hunted by our parents, my siblings and I searched the world for a place to call home, finding it, centuries ago, in a muddy patch of land called New Orleans._

_We swore to stick together, Always and Forever. We failed. And when I left the town that I had built from nothing, I swore I would never return. Now I'm told that a witch there, named Jane-Anne Deveraux is plotting against me. She should know better._

_I will not be hunted again._

 

**-oOo-**

 

The sun was shining, the day pleasantly warm without being overwhelmingly hot, a nice, cool breeze blowing. In the French Quarter of New Orleans, a theatrically dressed tour guide led a group of people or a supernatural tour through the city.

"Welcome to the dark side of New Orleans," The man informed his paying customers. "A supernatural playground where the living are easily lost, and the dead stick around to play."

As the group passed, cell phones and digital cameras at the ready, a tall, thin man leaned against a lamp post. Klaus watched them as they passed, listening to the tour guide's words with a smile before he stepped off the curb and into the street, his pace determined.

He was a man on a mission.

 

**-oOo-**

 

"New Orleans?" Rebekah asked her eldest living brother. "What the bloody hell is Klaus doing there?"

"Evidently there are witches conspiring against him." Elijah informed her. "So, knowing our brother, this was a mission to silence and slaughter."

"Well, the French Quarter witches are not a lot to be trifled with." Rebekah pointed out. "You don't suppose they've found a way to kill him once and for all, do you?" She smirked deviously before taking a sip from her glass of wine.

"Rebekah, in the name of our family, you might try and dial down your glee." Elijah scolded her.

"What family?" The blonde retorted. "We're three distrustful acquaintances who happen to share a bloodline." She raised her glass in a wordless salute. "I, for one, hope they've found a way to make that traitorous bastard rot." Sighing in disappointment with his sister, Elijah turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Rebekah demanded of Elijah's retreating back.

"To find out who's making a move against our brother." Elijah informed her, pausing but not turning to look at her. "And then I'll either stop them..." He paused, thinking it over. "... or help them." He gave her a Gallic shrug, one that could mean both nothing and everything. "Depending on my mood."

 

**-oOo-**

 

Back in New Orleans, Klaus was walking along the street in front of Jackson Square, observing the fortune tellers lined up at their little tables along the sidewalk. One in particular caught his eye - a middle-aged African-American woman, her dark skin smooth despite her age, her hair wrapped up in a gauzy purple head-scarf. Not quite a tignon but close.

She obviously spotted him too because she immediatley began to pack up her tarot cards and runes and crystal ball. But before she could vacate her seat, Klaus sat at her table, a charming smile in place.

"Good afternoon. Time for one more?" He asked politely.

"I have nothing to say to you." the woman said tensly, her voice sharp.

"Oh, now that's not very amiable, is it?" Klaus chided her, smile still smug and slightly condescending. "You don't even know me."

"I know what you are." She replied. "Half abomination, half beast." She snorted - very unlady-like. "You're the Hybrid."

"The Original Hybrid, actually." Klaus corrected her. "But that's a long story for another time." He sat up straighter in his seat and got right down to business. "I'm looking for someone - a witch." Klaus clarified. "Perhaps you might be able to help me find her." The witch said nothing. "Jane-Anne Deveraux." At the mention of the name, the woman visibly reacted, though she quickly schooled her face.

"Sorry, I don't know." She said, keeping her tone neutral.

The Original Hybrid leaned in toward her. "Well, now that's a fib, isn't it?" He called her out, reaching across the table and clasping one of her hands with both of his before she could pull away. "Now, you see, I know that you're a true witch amongst this sea of poseurs, so enough with the fabrications." His smirk turned sinister. "I've quite the temper."

The witch snatched back her hand. "Witches don't talk outta school in the Quarter." She informed him. "The vampire won't allow it. Those are the rules and I don't break Marcel's rules." That devious smile he'd worn ever since sitting at her table melted away, leaving his face cold and haunting, nothing you could have a civil conversation with.

"Marcel's rules." He said as if testing the words on his tongue, his tone icy and unforgiving. "And where do you suppose I might find Marcel."

The fortune teller pursed her lips.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Klaus entered the bar in the middle of a performance. Everyone's attention was focused on teh stage where a tall, broad-shouldered black man was singing The Heavy's " _How You Like Me Now_ " and doing a pretty good job of it. The man finished the song to some whistles and catcalls from the ladies (and gents) in front and enthusiastic applause from the rest of the bar.

"Thank you." He said, his deep voice magnified by the microphone he spoke into. He replaced the microphone on its stand before jumping off the stage to more applause. The man moved closer to the bar, where his friends were waiting for him, one of them (in a flat cap) handing him a drink.

"You killed it, man." One of the others said, this one also darker of skin with wild hair, his opinion getting a smile in response. He stood there, drinking and talking with his friends while Klaus glared murderously from the other side of the room. This man must have sensed it eventually because he turned to look and immediatley locked eyes with Klaus. Both of them froze, ignoring everyone around them.

"Klaus." The man said eventually, his tone much more serious then the jovial one he'd been using mere seconds before.

"Marcel." Klaus replied, voice just as serious.

"Must be a hundred years since that nasty business with your papa." Marcel mentioned, turning to fully face the Original.

"Has it been that long?" Klaus asked as he and Marcel slowly began to approach one another, Marcel's friends tense and alert.

"The way I recall it, he ran you outta town." Marcel pointed out. "Left a trail of dead vampires in his wake."

"And yet how fortunate you managed to survive." Klaus retorted. "My father, I'm afraid, I recently incinerated to dust." The aggressive tone of his voice caused Marcel's companions to stand to their feet, ready for a fight. And not just them. More than half the bar got to their feet or turned toward the pair, all paying attention to the conversation.

"Well, if I'd known you were coming back in town, if I'd had a heads up --"

"What, Marcel?" Klaus interrupted, stepping even closer. "What would you have done?" The two were practically nose-to-nose now, with Klaus having to look up because of their height difference. There followed an incredibly tense moment where the entire bar held it's breath.

"I'd have thrown you a damn parade." Marcel finally answered, his face breaking into a wide smile, the whiteness of his teeth a startling contrast to the darkness of his face. Likewise, Klaus also cracked his stony facade and smiled broadly. The two embraced like long, lost friends, almost like family, before they both pulled back. Marcel's hands rested on either side of Klaus's shoulders.

"Niklaus Mikaelson." Marcel said. "My mentor, my savior, my sire. Come on, let's get you a drink."

A few minutes later found Klaus and Marcel, as well as a few of Marcel's friends, in a private room sharing an expensive bottle of liquor.

"It's good to see you." Marcel remarked.

"It's good to be home." Klaus said. "Though please tell me the current state of Bourbon Street is not your doing." This got a chuckle out of the vampire.

"Something's gotta draw in the out-of-towners, otherwise we'd all go hungry." Marcel reasoned.

Klaus nodded absently in agreement as he raised his drink to his lips, taking a healthy swallow, his eye discreetly going to the ring set with a blue stone on the hand of one of Marcel's vampire companions. The one with the funny cap.

"I see your friends are daywalkers." The Original remarked nonchalantly.

"Yeah, yeah." Marcel picked up on the question beneath Klaus's words. "I shared the secret of your daylight rings with a few buddies. Just the inner circle, though - the family."

"Tell me," Klaus leaned forward. "How did _you_ find a witch willing to make daylight rings?"

"I got the witches 'round here wrapped around my finger." Marcel responded cryptically with a smile before taking a sip from his own drink.

"Is that so?" Klaus chuckled at his old friend's evasion. "Maybe you can help me then. You see, I'm actually looking for a witch by the name of Jane-Anne Deveraux. She has some business with me." Same as before with the witch on Jackson Square, Marcel reacted to that name... sort of. He reacted by not reacting, his expression perfectly schooled - not even a blink. Though, when Klaus finished the rest of his drink, Marcel did exchange a quick glance with one of his friends.

"You're looking for Jane-Anne?" Marcel finally asked, everything about him careful as he tried to judge Klaus's reaction. "You probably oughtta come with me." He himself stood up and finished off the rest of his drink, slamming the glass down with a laugh. "Showtime!"

 

**-oOo-**

 

Marcel and Klaus walked side by side down the street, with Marcel having donned a jacket and a stylish knit cap since they left the bar. A large crowd of vampires formed in their wake, some bearing the lapis lazuli rings that marked them as Marcel's "family" while the rest were ringless. On the root-tops of the buildings bording the street, even more vampires prowled, following the procession. One of them jumped down and landed on the roof of a parked car, setting off the alarm.

"Oh, how's your family?" Marcel asked absentmindedly, though anyone looking into his eyes could see he was really paying attention.

"Those who live hate me more than ever." Klaus remarked nonchalantly.

"Ah, forget'em." Marcel waved this off. "If your blood relations let you down, you make your own." The vampire gave a friendly tap to Klaus's chest with the back of his hand. "You taught me that." He then spread his arms wide to indicate everything around him. "And what's mine is yours, as always. Even my nightwalkers, the riff-raff." If any of his vampires took offense to being called riff-raff, none mentioned it.

"They're hardly subtle, are they?" Klaus remarked, looking up to watch one of the common vampires jump across the street, from one roof to another.

"It's the Quarter." Marcel countered, huge Cheshire-cat grin on his face. "Ain't no such thing, baby." They passed by the low hanging branches of a nearby tree and Marcel quickly snatched off one of the smaller ones. The prossesion finally reached their apparent destination, what was the intersection of Royal and St. Anne's. Once there, Marcel placed the thumb and forefinger of his free hand in his mouth and whistled loudly, eliciting a loud cheer from the surrounding crowd.

Klaus' quick eyes darted around the crossroads, noting the lights going out in nearby houses, blinds being pulled and drapes closed. His attention was quickly pulled back to the motley crew around him as a woman was brought into the center of the great circle formed by the crowd. The vampire restraining her was actually a familiar face to Klaus. Just as tall and broadshouldered as Marcel, maybe even a bit more so, and equally as dark of skin. He resembled Marcel enough to be his son, biologically speaking, though Klaus knew otherwise.

"Boyd?" Klaus asked, eyes trained on the vampire and not the woman.

"Klaus." Boyd answered, shoving the woman forward slightly so that she was in the center of the circle, surrounded on all sides by vampires, her hands bound in front of her. Aside from saying the Original's name, the vampire didn't even glance in his direction. Scowling at the obvious dismissal, he quickly focused his attention back on the woman standing among the crowd. She was a pretty thing, doing her best to scowl even though it was obvious she was terrified.

"Jane-Anne Deveraux!" Marcel called out, addressing the gathered crowd but his eyes were on the witch. "Give it up for Jane-Anne! Come on, let's here it!" Marcel walked around the circle, egging on the crowd who tossed whistles, cat-calls and jeers at the bound witch. Marcel made a full circuit of the circle and once again stood before Jane-Anne, him smirking and her scowling.

"Jane-Anne Deveraux." Marcel repeated, his voice much more serious now. "You have been accused of the practice of witchcraft beyond the bounds of the rules set forth, and enforced, by me. How do you plead?" Despite the seriousness of his tone and the charges he was dishing out, Marcel smiled through it all. When Jane-Anne simply stared stonily, the smile dropped a bit. "Seriously Jay, tick tock. You know the drill. How do you plead?"

"I didn't do anything." Jane-Anne snapped and the crowd laughed quietly.

"Mm, that's a lie." Marcel called her out. "You know it, I know it, and you _hate_ that I know it. It drives you witches crazy that I'm aware of your every move." Klaus watched with growing interest, his expressing belying his confusion and curiosity at the subject matter of the conversation. "That you can't do magic without getting caught. So, why don't we just cut to the chase, huh? You tell me what magic you're brewing." He leaned in closely, intensely. "I mean, tell me." He said softly. "I'll grant you leniency. I am, after all, a merciful man."

Still Jane-Anne said nothing, just glared. Before Marcel's patience wore out, someone burst through the circle of vampires, moving toward Jane-Anne before Boyd quickly intercepted them.

"Marcel, please don't do this!" Stiles begged of the vampire, struggling against Boyd's iron grip. "She's the only family I have left." The other vampires all remained silent at the interruption to the 'trial', looking from the teenage boy to their leader. Klaus also watched everything with a keen eye, his curiosity piqued.

"Well, the way I figure it, you still have your dear, old dad and let's not forget the oh, so pretty Sophie." Marcel pointed out, recovering quickly from the interruption. "And I won't have to do anything if your lovely aunt would just tell me what I wanna know."

"Jane-Anne, just tell him what he wants to know." Stiles pleaded, looking from Marcel to his aunt, his whiskey brown eyes pausing for a split second on Klaus before moving on. Marcel turned his smirking gaze from boy to woman, as if to say ' _Well_?' Jane-Anne, for her part, looked conflicted, her gaze concerned when she looked upon her nephew and disgusted when looking upon Marcel. After a few minutes of internal struggle, Jane-Anne steeled her expression and spat on the ground at Marcel's feet, prompting Stiles to start shouting in denial, pleading with his aunt, his voice overpowering the shocked murmurs of the vampires. That is, until Boyd placed a large hand over his mouth, muffling his cries.

"Rot in hell, monster." Jane-Anne spat, her face full of wrath as she held strong to her convictions.

Marcel didn't look to put off by the witch's refusal to cooperate. He stepped closer, noting Stiles struggling harder off to the side, and raised the branch he had grabbed earlier to point at her.

"I'll tell you what." Marcel said, his voice calm, pulling back the branch to pluck off a few leaves in an almost bored fashion. "Because I'm feeling magnanimous this evening, _and_ for the sake of your nephew, I'll give you one more chance..." He turned his back and walked away from the witch, putting some distance between them before he quickly spun around, weilding the branch like a sword. The tip sliced through Jane-Anne's neck, her blood spilling forth easily.

"Or not." Marcel finished as Jane-Anne's choking body fell to the ground, the crowd of vampires errupting into cheers at the bloodshed, overwhelming Stiles' screams. Watching it all with a shocked expression was Klaus, his eyes trained on the body of the witch plotting against him, the one person who could answer his questions. Her body became still as her blood pour from the wound in her throat to pool on the ground around her.

Marcel turned his back on the body completely, accepting congratulations by his friends and family, leaving Klaus to stare at the body. Now that the fuss was all over, the boy called Stiles was kneeling next to Jane-Anne's body, tears running down his pale cheeks as he stared in shock, at a loss for what to do. But Klaus didn't really see any of that - he made not of it, of course, but his focus was on the fact that Marcel had just killed the one person he'd come to this city to talk to.

His anger quickly took the driver's seat and Klaus stormed toward Marcel, grabbing his friend by the shoulder and roughly forcing him to turn around. More than half the vampires around them were instantly ready for a fight.

"What was that?" The Original growled.

"Hey," Marcel eased himself out of Klaus's grip before throwing an arm over the smaller man's shoulders. "Come walk with me." He guided the angry blond hybrid away from his companions, who all watched with suspicious eyes. "The witches aren't allowed to do magic here - she broke the rules."

"I told you I wanted to talk with her." Klaus barked savagly, wrenching himself from under his friend's arm. For a moment, Marcel glimpsed the blood-filled gaze of the most hated and feared of the Originals, just like he remembered but with one key difference: his eyes were no longer icy blue, but the glowing amber gold of a werewolf. Marcel guessed that the rumors were true and Klaus had indeed broken the curse put upon him by his mother. But that bestial gaze came and went so fast, others might have thought they'd imagined it, but Marcel knew better, even though he was now staring into those murderous glacial eyes he'd seen so many times.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry." Marcel appologized, trying to smooth things over. "I got caught up in the show. Those witches, they think that they still have power in this town. I have to show them that they don't. Never waste an opportunity for a show of force, another lesson I learned from you." He pointed out. "And besides, anything that you could've gotten outta her, I can find out for you, and I will." He slapped on his signature smile. "I promise."

Klaus took a deep breath and considered his old friend's words before he allowed his face to break out into a small smile of agreement.

"Well, whatever it was, doesn't matter any more, does it?" He pointed out, getting a return grin from Marcel.

"Good, good. Now let's go eat, 'cause all that spilled blood makes me hungry!" Marcel said before walking off with the quickly disperssing crowd of vampires, leaving Stiles sitting in the middle of the crossroads, arms around his knees, rocking back and forth next to the body of his aunt. Klaus hung back, eye on the vampire that was like a son to Marcel.

"Boyd." Klaus stopped him wiht a hand to the chest. "Feel like doing a favor for an old friend?"

"We're not friends." Boyd pointed out, never one to mince words.

"Well, how 'bout you do it anyway or I can feed you your insides." Klaus threatened, smiling the entire time. When Boyd didn't say anything in response to that, the Original pushed forward. "Any more Deveraux witches were she came from?" Boyd's dark eyes flickered to Marcel's retreating back before moving back to Klaus' grinning face.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Rousseau's was quite different at night, with it's lights all on and the bar full of paying customers. The music was playing and the liquor was flowing, but back in the kitchen, the air was much more sombre.

Sophie Deveraux was in the kitchen, cutting up some peppers and onions to add to the large pot of gumbo, but despite the jovial attitude of the bar's clientele, she was clearly upset, her cheeks wet with spilled tears. As she was working, a bowl of gumbo was placed on the island table she was working on. Sophie stopped what she was doing and simply stared at the bowl for a moment or two before sparing a quick glance at the new waitress, Camille " _Call me Cami_ " O'Connell.

"Another crier?" she asked as she went back to work.

"Yeah." Cami said, crossing her arms and looking down at the bowl of gumbo, her face confused. "Must be too spicy or someting." She looked up at Sophie just as the wtiche turned to look at her. If Cami saw the tears on her cheeks, she didn't say anything. "You know, I'm new here, so the locals are still a mystery to me, but..." She paused as she tried to word what she wanted to say. "I'm usually good at barflies.

"Understanding what makes people tick, it's kind of my thing. But this guy." She stopped and turned back to look out into the bar. Sitting at a table by himself was a man, facing the kitchen, a glass of beer in front of him, tears falling freely down his face as he sobbed quietly. "I can't crack him. He's just sitting there, crying." Cami faced Sophie agai, this time bringing attention to what she didn't before. "Like you."

"I'm fine." Sophie shrugged, trying to pass it off as nothing. "It's just the onions." She went back to cutting up vegetables before pausing and looking at the blond over her shoulder. "We should probably eighty-six the gumbo, though." Cami nodded her agreement and walked back into the bar, leaving Sophie alone with her thoughts and her grief.

She put down the knife and walked away, further into the kitchen, sighing heavily. When she turned back around she startled because a blond man with a grim expression stood in the exact spot Camille had just vacated.

"You're Klaus."

"I am." The Original confirmed. "And you're upset. Sophie, isn't it?" He asked even though he almost certainly already knew the answer. "I assume this is because of what I just witness with your sister on the corner of Royal and St. Anne?"

"DId you enjoy the show?" She asked angrily.

"It was a little melodramatic for my tastes." Klaus answered, infuriating little smirk on his face to add insult to injury. The smile quickly vanished as he got to the real questions, the questions that brought him back to this city in the first place. "What did your sister want with me? Why did Marcel kill her?"

Sophie stared Klaus down for a moment, a feat few others the world over would even attempt. Once that moment had passed, she opened her mouth to reply but her eye caught something out in the bar and she stopped.

"I see you brought friends." She said, indicating two of Marcel's vampires that had just entered the pub and took a spot at the bar, in a spot where they could subtly look into the kitchen, effectively keeping both Klaus and Sophie in their sights. Klaus turned to look upon the duo, who quickly avoided his gaze, before he turned back to Sophie, an unflattering scowl upon his face.

"They're not with me." He informed her with gritten teeth.

"They're with Marcel, that's all that matters." Sophie countered, turning back to her work table under the ruse of cooking. "I know you built this town, but this is his town now." She said out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes darting to the Original for only a moment. "He killed my sister because she broke the rules. So, I talk to you in front of them," She finally stopped what she was doing to level a stern look at Klaus. "I'm next."

Sophie then turned her back to Klaus, another unwise decision not many would make, leaving the Original confounded and angry. With barely suppressed rage, Klaus stalked back into the bar, approaching the two men from behind with his unsurpassed speed. Catching them unawares, he quickly grabbed them by their shoulders and made sure his grip was tight.

"Are you two gentlemen following me?" Klaus asked 'politely.'

"Marcel said we're your guides." The first vampire, the light-skinned half of the pair, said, fighting against the urge to cry out.

"He did, did he?

"He did." The second vampire, the ebony to the other's ivory, spoke.

"Well then, let me be exceedingly clear about something." Klaus growled. "If either of you follow me again, you'll do so without the benefit of a spine." He bore down on them with his bone-crushing strength, the vampires grimacing in pain before the pressure was suddenly gone. When they looked up, they saw that thei repreave came in the shape of the blonde bartender, Cami.

"Sorry for the wait." Cami informed the trio. "If you're here for the gumbo, I'm about to break your heart. We just ran out." Klaus released Marcel's two henchmen and slapped a hundred dollar bill on the bar.

"You're oldest Scotch for my two friends here, love." Klaus ordered, delivering a charming smile in her direction. Cami took the bill and smiled at them before she went of to get the booze. Once she was at the other end of the bar, Klaus resumed his hold on them.

"If Marcel wants to know what I'm up to, he can ask me himself." Klaus hissed before roughly letting them go and stalking out of the bar. Sophie Deveraux's watchful eye followed from the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Sophie slipped out the back door of Rousseau's, heading into the alley behind the bar where the employees usually took their breaks. At the bottom of the stairs that decended from the back door sat a small table with several half-burned candles and some crushed flowers on the surface. Sophie took those steps to the table, quickly lighting one of the candles and then using it to light it's brethren, their flickering light illuminating a picture of Jane-Anne from a happier time.

"You got me into this Jane." Sophie said under her breath to the picture of her older sister. "Give me the strength to finish it." As she tended the candles, the door she'd left open behind her slammed shut loudly, startling her. She whipped around to look at the door, not seeing anyone there who could have closed it.

Warily, she remained absolutely still, her senses straining to detect whoever was lurking in the shadows. A figure jumped down from the roof, their shadow large and menacing on the brick wall of the adjacent building, but when Sophie spun around, the alley was empty. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Sophie turned back to the steps to head back inside, but stopped dead in her tracks. Standing at the top of the stairs was the first half of the vampire pair sent to follow Klaus.

"The doors work, ya'know." Sophie snapped, having quickly regained her composure after being surprised by teh vampire.

"You're doing magic?" Sophie stepped backso that she only had to turn her head to see the other vampire on the other side of the table. The table he just indicated with his accusation.

"I'm praying to my dead sister." Sophie retaliated. "Go ahead, pay your respects." She turned to go back inside but the first vampire used his vampiric speed to suddenly appear in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.

"Don't make this a thing, Sophie." the first vampire spoke. "The hybrid was looking for Jane-Anne. Marcel want's to know why."

"Oh, that sounds like witch business." Sophie replied sarcastically. "I'd say ask her yourself, but I guess you can't, seeing as Marcel killed her." She turned back to the second vampire only for the first to suddenly grab her from behind, ready to attack. But, before he could sink his fangs into her neck, he suddenly vanished. Both Sophie and the second vampire gazed at where the first man had been, their faces utterly bewildered. They both simultaneously looked up just before there was a soft thud from behind them. Turning, they saw that what had fallen to the ground was a heart - slowly oozing dark blood.

The second vampire turned back to Sophie, his face quickly taking on it's darker counenance. He took one step toward the frightened witch and that was as far as he got. A dark, broad-shoulder blur quickly moved forward and intercepted the vampire. The next thing Sophie new, that vampire was impaled on a bent railing on the roof of the building, his skin quickly dessicating in death.

Sophie's eyes moved to her rescuer, who was straightening his jacket.

"I'm Elijah." He turned his ancient gaze on her. "You've heard of me?"

Sophie nodded fervently, her face nervous. "Yes."

"So, why don't you tell me what business your family has with my brother."

 

**-oOo-**

 

Klaus stalked the streets of the French Quarter, his frustration apparent to any who crossed his path. Ever since returning to the city, one he swore he'd never set foot in again, he'd been thwarted at every turn. Finding Marcel in charge of the city, the death of Jane-Anne, Sophie refusing to talk and then finding out that Marcel had the audacity to have him followed.

By the time he finally made his way back to Marcel's compound, he was seething. He easily slipped in through the entrance on Rue Royal, finding himself in the middle of some sort of party. Spilling out of every nook and cranny were vampires, some of them feeding on humans right there in the open. Klaus strolled out onto the main courtyard, gazing around and looking for the one vampire who could answer all of his questions. The one vampire who was conveniently absent. Suppressing a growl, he let his eyes rove the courtyard and it's overlooking balconies, until he saw one of Marcel's... family.

One of his daywalkers.

"Where is Marcel?" Klaus growled once he reached the vampire, a young-looking Caucasian man who didn't look like he was any older than eighteen. The daywalker leveled a look at Klaus that was so condescending and superior that it was almost artful.

"Who the hell's asking?" He asked, his voice dripping with venom.

"I assume you're joking." Klaus voice grew deeper, the beast inside close to the surface.

The young vampire sneered. "I only answer to Marcel." And with that, he turned back to the conversation he was having with another vampire, dismissing Klaus as if he were no more than some begger on the street. His temper flaring, Klaus easily grabbed this _kid_ by the collar of his jacket and wrenched him around. The vampire snartled but the Original's grip tightened.

"Well then, in that case perhaps you'll answer to this." Klaus's grip travelled from the vampire's collar to his throat, all the while his eyes willed with blood, his irises buring the gold of a werewolf. "You're aware that the bite from a werewolf can kill a vampire? Well as you can see, I'm half werewolf." Klaus saw the beginning flickers of fear in his captive's eyes. All around them, the party had stopped as Klau's rising voice drew their attention to the Original. "So I'm going to ask you one more time...

"Where is Marcel?!"

Not a soul moved as Klaus's anger and words reverberated around the compound.

"Hey. I'm right here." Marcel appeared out of nowhere, moving to break up the confrontation of his mentor and his friend. "I'm right here. Easy now." He eased Klaus' grip off of the other vampire, stepping between them once released. "Jackson's just looking out for me." He indicated the glaring vampire who was now straightening his designer jacket. "Nobody harms my guys - those are the rules."

"I don't care about your bloody rules, Marcel." the hybrid snarled, ignoring the dozens of stares focused on him. "And I don't need chaperones. Why are you having me followed?"

"Come here." Marcel said softly, putting an arm around his sire's shoulders and leading him away from prying eyes and ears. "I get it - a show of force. Now let it go friend. For me." Klaus took a deep breath through his nose, glaring momentarily at Jackson behind Marcel's back before focusing his gaze on his former protoge.

"Fine." He agreed, visibly letting the tension leave his body. "Why don't you show me what you've done with the place while you explain exactly what it is you've been up to in _my_ town."

Marcel kept his face blank at Klaus' obvious taunt before he left his face break into his wide grin, his rendition of a blank face. "Follow me." A quick journey through the compound and up a set of stairs found the two vampires on a balcony on the third floor, overlooking the Rue Royal below and with a brilliant view of the rest of New Orleans.

"Look at that skyline, huh?" Marcel noted, leaning against the wrought iron railing and looking at the tall buildings in in the distance. "That there, that's progress. More hotels means more tourists, more fresh blood." He looked back over at Klaus. "And the humans - the locals? I taught them to look the other way."

"I noticed." Klaus remarked dryly. "But what of the witches? In my time, they were a force to be reckoned with, and now they live in fear." Marcel's grinning eyes were blank, offering no answer to the question. "How do you know when they're using magic?"

"Maybe I got a secret weapon, an ace up my sleeve." Marcel answered cryptically, though his words answered very little. "Something that gives me complete control over all the magic in _my_ town."

"Is that a fact?"

"Might be." Marcel directed his grin at the Original. Klaus was struck by the thought of how much Marcel reminded him of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, only his bright white smile visible, the darkness of his skin melting into the night. "Maybe I'm just bluffing." He chuckles as he turned back to gaze out at his city, pulling something out of his pocket and biting off a small piece, whatever it was sizzling slightly. Klaus' keen senses caught this.

"You take vervain?" It was phrased as a question but spoken like a statement.

"Burns like a bitch, but I figure I should limit the number of things I'm vulnerable to." Marcel looked at Klaus with those grinning eyes of his, as if daring the Original to say anything. "I actually got the idea from this pretty little thing passing through the Quarter. Called herself Katherine." Klaus felt his face turn to stone at that name. Swallowing the rest of the herb with a grimace, Marcel straightened up to his full height before turning back to his sire. "Don't be mad about that whole chaperone thing. I've told my guys to look out for you, that's all. That's what we do here - look out for each other."

Once again he turned his gaze to the city, pausing when he saw a beautiful young woman walking down the street by herself.

"Mm, m-m-mm." He hummed in pleasure, the grin he now bore was more care-free than predatory. "New blood." Curious, Klaus stepped up to the railing to gaze down upon teh street, pleasantly surprised to see he recognized her as the bartender from Rouseau's.

"Bartender, walking alone at night." Klaus noted. "She's either brave or dumb."

"Let's see." Marcel said. "Brave, I let her live. Dumb, she's dessert." The two vampires smiled at each other before Marcel leapt over the railing, falling three stories to land cat-like behind the blond bartender. At the sound of his soft landing, she whirled around, just as he stood up to his full, towering height.

"You know, it's not safe out here alone." Marcel informed her.

"You know I have a black belt in karate." Cami countered bravely, earning a chuckled from the dark-skinned vampire. Up above, Klaus observed with detatched interest, mostly just noting behavior for later use while processing all the information thrown at him over the last five minutes. As he was doing this, if anyone were there to notice, they would have seen the slightest tensing of his shoulders.

"Evening, Elijah." Klaus greeted his older brother, not turning or acknowledging his pressence in any way aside from his words.

"Niklaus." Elijah said just as formally and lacking any inflection as he stepped out of the shadows.

"What an entirely unwelcom surprise." Klaus still didn't turn around, his earlier frustrations making a comeback in his brother's presence.

"And what an entirely unsurprising welcome." Elijah countered, before turning away. "Come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere." Klaus retorted, petulant as always. "Not 'til I find out who's conspiring against me."

"I believe I just found that out for you." Elijah informed his brother. At last, Klaus looked away from the street, just in time to catch a glimpse of his brother's retreating back. With no other option, the hybrid followed, eager to get the answers to the questions that burned inside him.

 

**-oOo-**

 

The Original brothers approached the gates of Lafayette Cemetery, Elijah striding boldly over the threshold, looking like he belonged there in his crisp suit in the soft darkness while Klaus lingered, his paranoia gnawing at him.

"What are we donig here?" Klaus demanded. Elijah halted in his steps and turned to face his brother, his expression haughty,.

"You want to know what the witches have in store for you?" Elijah asked rhetorically, already knowing the answer. "Then follow me." With a scowl at being ordered around, Klaus followed Elijah deep into the labyrinth of tombs and crypts, remembering why these cemeteries were aptly called Cities of the Dead. They eventually reached a tomb with a wrought iron gate in the doorway, leading into what was no doubt an elaborate family tomb, from within Klaus could see the flickering of candlelight. The two entered the crypt, with Elijah stepping off to the side while Klaus stood boldly and arrogantly in the center, demanding attention. In his immediate line of sight stood Sophie Deveraux, the boy - Stiles - was leaning against the wall behind her, his arms crossed and his expression sour.

"Sophie Deveraux." Klaus noted the obvious before looking over at his brother. "What is this?"

"He's all yours." Elijah said, though he was speaking to the witch.

"You know you're famous in this town?" Sophie asked Klaus, her expression a lot less frightened and distressed than it had been at the resteraunt. "Witches tell bedtime stories about the powerful vampire Klaus." Klaus said nothing, willing to wait until she got to her point. " We know Marcel was nothing but an orphan street rat, until you make him what he is. And now he's out of control. He does what he wants, kill..." She stumbled over her words, Stiles casting his glare toward the floor behind her. "Kills who he wants. And we've had enough. I'm going to stop him, and you're gonna help me."

Klaus stared her down for a minute, noting the steel in her spine and that her nephew wore the same clothes he'd worn at his other aunt's execution, bloodstaines maring the jeans. Finally, his face broke out into an amused grin.

"This is why you brought me here?"

"Here her out, brother." Elijah insisted.

"I don't need to hear her out." Klaus snapped. "I assure you, love, there's not a thing on this earth that will matter enough for me to waste even thirty more seconds of my time." He dismissed her and turned to his wise (supposedly) brother. "Elijah, what madness is this?" Before the elder Original could answer, the gate at their backs opened and Klaus turned to see a face he'd honestly thought he'd never see again. The little wolf girl he'd had a fun night with back in Mystic Falls. The one searching for her family. The one who conveniently happened to have the birthmark of the Cresent Wolf pack on her shoulder.

"Klaus." Hayley pleaded. "You need to listen to them." On either side of her were women, more witches, Klaus presumed, but their was a young man at her back, probably the same age as Stiles, though a little shorter and when Klaus sniffed - clearly a werewolf. Noting all of them quickly, he let his eyes drift back to Hayley, letting the amusement bubble to the surface of his mind.

He laughed.

"You're all out of your minds if you think some liquor-fueled, one-night stand - no offense, sweetheart - means a thing to me."

"Marcel may be able to keep up from practicing real magic in this town, but as keepers of the Balance, we still know when Nature has cooked up something new." Sophie interrupted, bringing the attention of the Originals back to her. "For example, I have a special gift... of sensing when a girl is pregnant."

All amusement left Klaus' face. "What?"

The boy, Stiles laughed at the look on the hybrid's face, causing Klaus's shocked face to turn murderous.

"Stiles?" The werewolf with Hayley said, his big brown eyes full of concern and focused on his best friend.

"I'm sorry, it's just..." Stiles laughed again, sounding a bit manic. "The look on your face was priceless. I should have taken a picture." Klaus took a threatening step forward, only to see Stiles do the same, his anger seeking a target. Before they could come to blows, of which Stiles would obviously lose, they were both restrained, Klaus by his brother and Stiles by his aunt.

"This isn't what Jane-Anne would want." Sophie muttered to him, pushing him gently back and farther away from Klaus, who was staring at the brother now standing in his way. Behind them, Scott was torn between going to his best friend or staying with Hayley.

"No, Elijah, I will not calm down." Klaus barked at his sibling. "This back-alley kitchen witch is insinuating the inconceivable."

"I know it's impossible..." Hayley spoke up

"What are you saying?" Klaus demanded, turning his gaze to her.

"Niklaus..." Elijah stated calmly. "The girl is carrying your child."

Klaus froze, his eyes wide as he tried to process the information just thrown at him.

"No." Klaus denied, shaking his head. "Vampires cannnot procreate."

"But werewolves can." Stiles spoke up, speaking over his aunt's whispered words as she tried to get him to calm down. "Magic made you an abomination, but you were born a werewolf. You're the Original Hybrid." He pointed out. "The first of your kind and this pregnancy is one of Nature's stupid loopholes." He scoffed and wrenched his arm free from his aunt's grasp, stepping away to lean against the wall. "Because we don't have enough crap to deal with. No, now we have to deal with weird ass magical pregnancies."

Klaus fought for control over his face, his expression ranging from rage to dispair to longing to disbelief and back again. He eventually settled on anger (as he usually did) and he whirled to face Hayley.

"You've been with someone else!" Klaus roared as he approached her, accusatory finger pointed at her. "Admit it!" Less then a couple of steps away from her, Scott stepped protectively in front of her, growling slightly, his brown eyes lighting up wolf gold for a split second.

"You're going to back off." Scott growled, drawing Klaus' ire unto himself. Hayley watched the little exchange, seeing Stiles step away from the wall before she decided to speak.

"Hey!" She drew his eyes to her. "I've spent days held captive in a freakin' aligator bayou because they think that I'm carrying some magical, miracle baby. Don't you think I would've fessed up if it wasn't yours?" She snorted. "Like I want to actually admit to sleeping with you in the first place."

Klaus looked murderous.

"My sister gave her life to perform the spells she needed to confirm this pregnancy." Sophie interrupted. "Because of Jane-Anne's sacrifice, the lives of this girl and her baby are now controlled by us." Judging by the looks of utter shock on Elijah's, Hayley's, and even Scott's faces, this was news to them. "If you don't help us take down Marcel, so help me, Hayley won't live long enough to see her first maternity dress."

"Wait, what?" Hayley asked, her hand unconciously going to her stomach.

"Are you for real?" Scott asked, his eyes going to his best friend when Sophie didn't answer. "Stiles? Please tell me this is some sort of joke." Stiles didn't answer, but he did look away from his best friend's big brown eyes, unable to look into them and lie.

"Enough of this!" Elijah's voice, though not raised, was still commanding, echoing around the mausoleum until his words hung in the air. "If you want Marcel dead, he's dead. I'll do it myself."

"No!" Sophie snapped, trying to regain control of the situation. "We can't, not yet. We have a clear plan that we need to follow."

"And there are rules of engagement." Stiles pointed out, avoiding looking at Scott but having no problem staring down the ancient vampire.

Klaus slowly turned to face the two Deveraux witches, his anger barely retrained.

"How dare you command me..." He said, his voice frighteningly quiet. It didn't stay quiet for long, quickly rising to a booming roar. "Threaten me!" He took a step closer to them. "With what you perceive to be my weaknesses."

"Yes, because what we're doing is _so_ different from the many, _many_ times you've commanded and threatened others." Stiles pointed out sarcastically, the normally mischeivous teen angry for once. "Where the hell do you think we got the idea from?"

"I won't listen to any more lies." Klaus snapped before spinning around to leave the mausoleum.

"Niklaus." Elijah stepped forward, stopping his wayward younger brother just by saying his name. "Listen." The blond hybrid paused, still facing the door and away from everyone else, his hearing straining to hear beyond any normal standards. What his ears picked up, were the (mostly) steady heartbeats of the witches and the two werewolves in the room and another, fainter one. One so rapid it almost sounded like it was humming... and it was coming from Hayley, from a spot lower than her own heart. Klaus raised his eyes to meet Hayley's, letting her see his face shut down.

"Kill her and the baby." Klaus said to his brother. "What do I care?" And without another word, he storms out of the mausoleum.

"Screw this, I'm outta here." Hayley said, moving immediatly for the same door Klaus just left through. The two nameless witches who had accompanied her earlier, and since lurked in the shadows throughout the exchange, now stepped in Hayley's path, blocking her escape.

"No one touches the girl." Elijah snapped, turning his head to look at Sophie. "I'll fix this." Sophie simply stared at the Original for a moment before nodding in agreement.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Klaus stalked down one of the few deserted streets of the French Quarter, now called Pirate's Alley by the locals, practically fuming. Seriously, if one were to look closely, they would probably see steam coming from his ears and nose. Before he could reach the end of the street, he looked up and saw his older brother standing there, looking all proper in his fancy suit.

"Niklaus?"

"It's a trick, Elijah." Klaus snapped.

"No, brother." Elijah argued. "It's a gift. It's your chance - it's _our_ chance."

"To what?"

"To start over." The elder vampire explained. "Take back everything we have lost, everything that was taken from us." Klaus paused, Elijah's speaking the very words that were the key to every Mikaelson's heart. "Niklaus, our own parents came to despise us. Our family was ruined - we were ruined. And since then, all that you have ever wanted - all that _we_ have ever wanted wa a family." And there it was, that one word that represented the very thing the Original Family has fought for over the past millenium. The one thing that causes them to take pause.

"I will not be manipulated." Klaus snarled despite his brother's pleas, turning to go back the way he came but finding Elijah already in his path.

"So they're manipulating you." Elijah argued. "As the boy pointed out, it's nothing we ourselves have not done to countless others over the centuries to get what we want. So what?" The scowl on Klaus's face deepened. "With these witches, this girl and her child... _your_ child, NIklaus - they get to live."

"I'm going to kill every last one of them." The hybrid countered, spinning once more only to again find his brother blocking his path.

"And then what?" Elijah countered. "You return to Mystic Falls to resume your life as the hated one? Hmm? As the evil hybrid?" Klaus simply scowled. "And for what? So that you can chase after a girl that will never want you in return?" The hands at the blond's sides tightened into fists and Elijah saw the beginings of gold in his blue eyes. Elijah shook his head in disappointment. "Is it so important to you that people quake with fear at the sound of your name?"

"People quake with fear because I have the power to make them afraid!" Klaus shouted back, his voice echoing off the buildings around them. "What will this child offer me? Will it guarentee me power?"

"Family _is_ power, Niklaus." Elijah insisted. "Love, loyalty - that's power. This is what we swore to one another a thousand years ago, before life tore away what little humanity you have left." He stared down Klaus with his patented disapproving stare. "Before ego, before anger, before paranoia created in this person before me someone I can barely even recognize as my own brother." Elijah stepped closer, beseeching. "This is _us_ , the Original Family, and we remain together, always and forever." He sighed. "I am asking you to stay here. I will help you and I will stand by you." Ever so slowly, step by step, Elijah had been inching closer to his brother. "I will be your brother and we will have a home here... together." The elder of the two put his hand comfortingly on Klaus's shoulder. "So save this girl. Save your child."

Klaus, perhaps in the spirit of brotherhood, raised his own hand and placed it on Elijah's neck in a brotherly gesture.

"No."

Elijah stood still, in some kind of shock as Klaus left him there in the deserted street, off to who knows where.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Some time later, Elijah walked down a more populated street, a sleek phone pressed to his ear.

"Well, he's doing what he does." Elijah explained. "Given a chance at happiness, Klaus runs in the opposite direction."

" _Then let him run_." Rebekah responded from back in Mystic Ralls. " _That child, if it's even his, is better off without him._ "

"He's not better off without that child, Rebekah, and neither are we." Elijah argued.

" _Darling, kind, naive Elijah_." Rebekah sighed. " _Our brother rarely gives us anything but pain. At what point in your immortal life will you stop seeking his redemption_?"

"He has changed over the centuries, Rebekah, I'll grant you that." Elijah agreed. "But, time has not erased from me the memory that I have of my little brother." Before Rebekah could interrupt, he plowed on with his monologue. He did love to give speeches. "Before we were vampires, before he was... a hybrid. He was so full of love." On the other line, Rebekah remained silent. "All he ever wanted was to be loved in return." The silence stretched, broken by neither sibling for several moments.

"I'll stop searching for his redemption when I believe there is none left to be found."

Click.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Klaus once again found himself entering his- sorry, _Marcel's_ compound, seeing that the party he'd interrupted earlier was still going strong. He shoved past a vampire in a Mardi Gras mask feeding on a helpless young girl, but paid them no mind as his eyes searched the courtyard for Marcel. This time, the dark-skinned vampire appeared almost instantly, wanting to avoid a repeat of the earlier incident, though his attention was slightly focused on the gentleman at his side.  The man was tall, handsome with a weathered face and pale eyes.  He carried himself like a soldier, and the gun and badge combo on his belt said he was an officer of the law.

"I don't care about your damn rules, Marcel." The man argued.  "You killed a woman in the middle of the street and left her body to lay there."  Marcel opened his mouth to argue but the man plowed right over him.  "In front of my son!"

"You son barged in." Marcel countered.  "And if Jane-Anne hadn't been so stubborn, she's still be alive to tell your kid all the bedtime stories he wants."

"Don't mock me, Marcel." the man growled.  "We have an agreement in this town, but some things are just too much."

"I understand, John, I do." Marcel agreed.  "And from now on I'll try my best to keep your son and his friends out of it." He promised.  "You know how I feel about hurting kids."  Marcel's eyes looked over the man's shoulders to meet Klaus' before he turned back to John.  "So go home and tend to your kid.  I am truly sorry I had to do that in front of him, but it won't happen again."  The dark-skinned vampire motioned for Jackson.  "Jackson, please show Detective Stilinski here out."  When the sneering blond vampire approached the officer and attempted to grab his arm, he suddenly had a gun pressed to the side of his head.

"Wooden bullets." John threatened.  When he met Marcel's death glare, he pulled the gun away and holstered it.  "I can find my own way out."  And without another word, he swept out, past Klaus, who had stood there and watched it all, watching as Marcel muttered something to Jackson before moving toward his sire.

"Hey, man." He said as he sidled up to his mentor. "Where'd you run off to?"

"You mean your minions aren't still documenting my every move?" Klaus countered, venom in his words.

"Somebody put you in a mood." Marcel observed. "What can I do?"

"What you can do is you can tell me what this thing is you have with the witches." Klaus growled, wanting some sort of answer to all the confusion and manipulations going around.

"Oh, we're back to that."

"Yeah, we're back to that."

"You know I owe you everything." Marcel agreed. "But I'm afraid I have to draw the line on this one. This is _my_ business. I control the witches in my town." He informed Klaus. "Let's just leave it at that."

"Your town?" Klaus' eyes narrowed, his tone beligerent.

"Damn straight." Marcel didn't back down or try to be subtle this time.

"That's funny, because when I left a hundred years ago, you were just a patheticl little scrapper still trembling from the lashes of the whips of those who would keep you down." Klaus gloated, trying to put Marcel down in front of his family. "And now look at you. Master of your domain. Prince of the city." Around them, the music stopped and the guests were all observing the conversation. "I'd like to know how."

"Why?" Marcel asked, his face splitting into a familiar grin, though this one was more sinister than his others. "Jealous?" He snorted in amusement while Klaus' face darkened. "Hey, man, I get it. Three hundred years ago, you helped build a backwater penal colony into something." He paused, probably for dramatic effect. "You started it, but then you left. Actually, you ran from it!" Klaus merely stood there, letting himself be verbally assaulted. "I saw it though. Look around, vampires rule this city now." He spread his arms to indicate his army of vampires. We don't have to live in the shadows like rats. The locals know there place because _I_ taught them to look the other way.

" _I_ got rid of the werewolves!" Marcel plowed on, emphasizing his involvement in the shaping of the city's supernatural community. " _I_ even found a way to shut down the witches! The blood never stops flowing and the party never ends." On the balconies around him, his vampires cheered. "You wanna pass on through? You wanna stay a while? Great." Marcel calmed his voice. "What's mine is yours, but it is _mine_!" His deep, booming voice echoed around the compound.

"My home, my family, my rules."

"And if someone breaks those rules?" Klaus asked, his voice suspiciously quiet.

"They die." Marcel stated simply. "Mercy is for the weak. _You_ taught me that." He gloated to his sire. "And I'm not prince of the Quarter... " He searched for the right word before sarcastically spitting out "friend. I'm the king!" He stepped forward assertively. " _Show me some respect_!"

Utter silence reigned in the compound, all the vampires doing that particular trick that vampires can do, where they stood completely still and if it wasn't for the flush in their cheeks, you would never know they weren't just statues. Klaus stood there, vampires not loyal to him at every turn, eveyone waiting to see how the Original would react to their king's words. Setting his mouth in a grim line, Klaus turned and sped toward one of Marcel's "family", one of his daywalkers. The one with the silly cap. Klaus grabbed the man, Thierry, he thought his name was, by the throat and pinned him to the wall. Almost immediatly, two vampires assailed him from either side, one of them being Jackson and the other was another day walker, a lighter skinned African-American with wild hair. They grabbed him by either arm and Klaus easily snapped Thierry's neck, letting his body drop unconcious to the ground.

The wild-haired vampire lunged in, snapping his fangs, but Klaus easily tossed him aside, sending him careening upward where he broke through one of the railings. Klaus turned to Jackson next and moved his hand to puncture the vampire's chest and rip out his heart. Before his fingers could make contact, another strong hand enclosed around his wrist Klaus's blue eyes turned to see Boyd pulling him away and the Original smirked. This was perfect. Boyd would make a much better target - he was, after all, like a son to Marcel. With a quick shove that sent Jackson sailing through the air to land in the fountain. The Original Hybrid then quickly turned toward Boyd, reversing the way the vampire gripped his arm so that it was now Klaus gripping him before he pulled him forward and bit into his neck.

Boyd, to his credit and reputation, didn't cry out. Hell, he barely grunted in pain while Klaus tore into his neck, letting his hybrid venom infect the wound. When he was satisfied he'd infected the vampire enough, he tossed him aside before turning to face Marcel, who was just standing up after checking on Thierry. The amused and confident smirk was now gone, his face a stony mask while Klaus grinned broadly, blood dripping from his chin.

"Your boy will be dead by the weekend." Klaus boasted. "Which means I've broken one of your rules. And yet..." He smiled, not even bothering to remove the blood. "I cannot be killed. Unlike you and this rabble, I _am_ immortal." He held out his arms as if inviting a challenge. "Who has the power now?" Jackson, soaking wet as he climbed out of the fountain, let his fangs slide free and his eyes fill with blood as he raced toward Klaus, only to be held back by an arm from Marcel.

Klaus and Marcel faced off in the courtyard, neither saying a word, the former looking smug and the latter looking murderous. Feeling he made his point, Klaus cast one last smile toward the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend and turned to leave.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Klaus wandered down Rue Royal, navigating his way though a crowd of people mingling about, watching the street performers do their acts. His adrenaline still pumping, he forced himself to stop and watch a group of drummers do a rather complicated but amazing number on their instruments before his attention was caught by something more to his style. Stepping around the crowd, he circled around the fountain in the little square and observed a man painting a rather large canvas. The image was that of a man's face, slightly abstract, done in contrasting colors to emphasize the conflicting light and dark duality in all men.

Or something.

As Klaus stepped closer, he observed the bartender also standing a respectful distance back, arms crossed and watching the artist intently. He approached her, sidling up to her side slowly so as not to startle her. When he was close enough to be picked up by her peripheral vision, she looked over and recognized him.

"The hundred dollar guy." She observed.

"The brave bartender." Klaus fired back goodnaturedly, glancing at her work nametag. "Camille?" He looked up and into her eyes. "That's a French name."

"It's a grandma's name." She argued. "Call me Cami." She motioned to the painter, who was still working dilligently on his project. "Amazing, isn't he?" Klaus turned his gaze to the painter and the two observed them in silence. Well, silence from dialogue - the band was still playing somewhere behind them.

"Do you paint?" Klaus asked after a moment.

"No, but I admire." Cami admitted. "Every artist has a story, you know."

"And what do you suppose his story is?" Klaus asked, curious as to this girl's opinion, while still wrestling with everything that had happened to him since he'd returned to this cty.

"He's..." She paused, watching the bold, harsh brush strokes as they moved across the canvas. "... angry. Dark. Doesn't feel safe and doesn't know what to do about it." Klaus turned to look at her, only to discover she wasn't talking about him but about the painter, her gaze still on him, intent and focused. "He wishes he could control his demons instead of havin his demons control him." She paused again, tilting her head to the side as she assessed. "He's lost. Alone." She righted her head. "And he hates it."

Beside her, Klaus stood still, his eyes unfocused yet glistening faintly. He tore his gaze away from the painter and directed it skyward, observing the stars and the nearly full moon, all the while he smiled ruefully to himself.

"Or, maybe he just drank too much tonight." Cami offered. "Sorry. Overzealous psych major."

"No, I think you were probably right the first time." Klaus pointed out, earning a small smile from Cami before she observed the painter again.

"So, do you... " she turned to look at Klaus but found him gone, the space next to her empty. "... paint?"

 

- **oOo-**

 

Klaus walked down yet another deserted street, lost in his own thoughts but aware enough of his surroundings that he wasn't completely vulnerable to attack. He was incredibly powerful, but also incredibly paranoid. After a moment or two of wandering, he came to a bench and sat down, slouching as he looked at the old architecture of the French Quarter around him. Not much longer, Elijah joined him on the bench, not saying a word, just sitting up properly next to his brother and joining him in his admiration.

"Are you here to give me another pep talk on the joys of fatherhood?" Klaus was the first to break the silence.

"I've said all I needed to say." Elijah responded diplomatically.

The two brothers sat there for a few more silent minutes, their gazes taking in the cobbelstone streets, rising balconies of twisting iron, the hanging plants all over the place and the little signs there presence had left here all those decades ago. Once again, Klaus was the first to speak.

"I forgot how much I liked this town." He stated.

"I didn't forget." Elijah responded, his voice quiet. "In all the centuries we've spent together as a family, I can count on one hand the number of times that we've been truly happy." He sighed, expressing his exhaustion after a thousand years. "I hated leaving here."

"As did I." Klaus agreed, not meeting his brother's gaze but leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, contemplative.

"What is on your mind, brother?"

"For a thousand years, I lived in fear." Klaus stated plainly. "Any time I settled anywhere, our father would hunt me down and chase me away." He scowled at the many memories that assailed him. "He made me feel powerless, and I hated it. This town was my home once, probably my ownly true one, and in my absence, Marcel has gotten everything that I have ever wanted." Klaus clasped his hands together. "Power, loyalty, family. I made him in my image and he has bested me." His jaw tightened. "I want what he has.

"I want to be king."

"And what of Hayley and the baby?" Elijah asked softly.

Klaus turned his head to meet his brother's gaze. "Every king needs an heir."

He smiled.

 

**-oOo-**

 

The sun was shining upon Lafayette No. 1, signifying the brand new day. Walking through the tombs and crypts to the mausoleum where they'd met the night before was Sophie and Elijah, discussing their battle plan.

"So, how do you propose this will work?" Elijah asked, knowing that Sophie said they already had a plan they planned on enacting.

"Your brother needs to cement his place in Marcel's world." Sophie informed him. "His inner circle, the daywalkers - that's where we begin. They're his friends, his family." She smiled bitterly. "We'll be hitting him where it hurts."

 

**-oOo-**

 

Klaus slowly, cautiously, entered the room where Marcel and his daywalkers were gathered around Boyd's bed, trying to make him comfortable as he slowly succumbed to the werewolf venom working it's way though his body, slowly breaking down his body. The moment he was spotted, Marcel got to his feet defensively, Diego, Thierry and Jackson doing so as well, all of them itching for a fight.

"I had time to sleep on it last night." Klaus said, holding up his hands in surrender to signal he wasn't here for a fight. "I am not your enemy." Marcel signalled his daywalkers to back down and they reluctantly did so, still throwing poisoned looks his way. "Where my family and I failed this town... Marcel succeeded." Klaus admitted, though Marcel's face remained a stone mask, not trusting the situation would be so easily resolved. Klaus reached over and plucked a glass from a drinking tray on a nearby table and held it up, biting his wrist with his fangs and letting his blood slowly drain into the tumbler.

"My blood will heal him." Klaus informed them. "As though it never happened."

Keeping eye contact with Klaus, Marcel nodded to Jackson, who stepped forward to snatch the glass from the hybrid's grasp before swiftly moving to Boyd's bedside, offering his friend the life-saving elixir. Boyd accepted the glass with shaky fingers and quickly gulped it down.

"The Quarter is your home," Klaus admitted. "But I would like to stay away." He looked directly into Marcel's eyes. "That is, if I'm still welcome." Marcel remained statue-still for a moment before he broke out into a smile, happy that Boyd was healed and Klaus had reached out to make peace.

 

**-oOo-**

 

"And if I decide against you?" Rebekah argued with her eldest brother, her blond hair swinging dangerously around her as they argued. "Hmm? A dagger in my heart and then back in a box?"

"Rebekah, we would-"

"Don't you dare tell me you would never do such a thing, darling Elijah!" Rebekah nearly shouted, cutting off her noble brother. "In a thousand years, you have helped him dagger me more than once simply for voicing a different opinion. So do not think me stupid for expressing doubt in your promises of saftey and family." Elijah remained calm in the face of his sister's accusations, well-founded as they were, letting her calm down a bit before he spoke again.

"I have made my case." Elijah said. "Your family needs you, and whatever choice you make right now is your own." Rebekah stood still for a few long moments, mulling over the vast amount of information as well as the various promises Elijah had heaped upon her with his return, seeking her help. Those moments had passed and her decision was made. She stepped closer to her "noble" brother.

"I owe him nothing." She hissed softly. "I wish him no joy. No love" Her beautiful blue eyes glittered with deepset rage and her pretty face was twisted with a scowl. "I will stay here and live my life the way that I want to, and if you're smart, I suggest you do the same." And with that, Rebekah stormed out of the room, leaving Elijah to stand there, silent and mourning.

 

**-oOo-**

 

One of the New Orleans famous funeral processions was going down Rue Dauphine, a brass brand playing in the parade itself with their high-steppers waving great featherd fans and parisols up at the head, enacting one of the city's oldest traditions of celebrating life as opposed to mourning it. Among the procession was the casket, a shiny black thing on a wagon being pulled along by two horses, the deceased's family around it and then the vast majority of New Orleans natives who would use any event to celebrate and party.

Some of those revelers were Marcel and his gang of daywalkers, Klaus at his side, walking more slowly as opposed to the other vampires' dancing.

"Who's life are we celebrating?" Klaus asked, leaning over to ask his old friend.

"Old Dave from the butcher shop." Marcel answered, still dancing. "Nice guy." He noted. "Handy with a meat cleaver."

"What happened to him?" Klaus asked, curious.

"He broke the rules." Marcel's smile seemed to always be lurking just behind the skin of his face. As they continued on down the street, Marcel looked off to the side and saw the pretty blonde bartender, Cami under one of the balconies. He nudged Klaus with his elbow and nodded toward her, getting a chuckle in response.

"I'm suddenly thirsty." Marcel joked.

"You fancy her." Klaus observed.

"Queen material, if you know what I'm sayin'." Marcel replied before he broke from the parade and moved toward the blonde human, his daywalkers following him as well as Klaus, though at a much more reserved pace.

"Hey there." Cami said when she saw Marcel, her eyes going to Klaus as well as he finally caught up. "Let me see if I remember..." She pointed at Klaus. "Something old" her finger moved to Marcel. "And something... smooth."

"Ooh, ouch!" Marcel accepted the joke graciously, his grin wide and bright. "Callin' me out on my game in front of my friends here."

Cami smiled, a hint of deviousness in it. "I think you can handle it." Without another word, she turned and entere the bar: Rousseau's, Marcel and his daywalkers following her while Klaus paused and turned to look back out at the city, taking it all in, allowing himself to bask in it's unique atmosphere. After a moment of this, he turned and followed his compatriots inside, seeing them all standing up by the bar, Cami behind it and pouring them all shots.

"Get over here." Marcel called out upon seein Klaus enter. "You're missing the party."

"When is it ever not one?" Klaus asked rhetorically, accepting his own shot of bourbon.

"À la fête sans fin." Marcel toasted and they all clinked their glasses together before downing their shots.

"Ooh." Cami grimaced all in good fun as the burning alcohol made it's way down her throat.

"Whoo!" Marcel laughed, already calling for another round, all the while Klaus observed him, wondering about his rules. How did he know when the witches were using magic? What secret weapon did he have that gave him control over the witches? What would Klaus have to take from him to claim his throne?

　

**-oOo-**

　

"Like the Convent of Saint Ursulines, whose thirteen attic windows never open." The tour guide said to his latest group, gesturing toward the iconic building before them. "Not a ray of sunshine, not a breath of air, not even in the deadliest summer heat... where open air's the only thing that save you from melting." The guide explained dramatically. "No one ever goes in, no one ever comes out.

"Kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

　

Despite what the tour guide just told his paying customers, one of the attic windows did crack open, a young woman, no older than sixteen in a thin white summer dress peeking out through the tiny sliver of open window, allowing the small gust of fresh air to wash over her face and caress her long brown hair. As she was gazing out the window, watching the crowds passing below, the door that led into the attic opened and in strode a vampire, one of Marcel's daywalkers if the lapis lazuli amulet at her neck was anything to go by. In her hands was a cup of tea, but the moment she saw the girl by the window she sighed, bringing up one hand to push her long blond hair behind her ear as she stomped toward her in those kick-ass boots.

"Davina." The woman sighed. "You know Marcel doesn't want you standing by the window."

"I'm hot, Kate." Davina responded. "I need air."

Kate put the tea down on a small table at the foot of a massive four-poster bed, the gauzy curtains brushing against her hand. "But you can't - "

"I said I need air!" Davina snapped, letting the shutter fall closed once more. Kate forced herself to relax her clenched fist before taking another step forward.

"Marcel's asked me to find out if the witches are quiet today." Kate stated.

"Yes." Davina replied. "There's no magic out there." She then turned her back on the vampire and resumed her spot by the window, once again cracking it open an inch.

"Honestly child, you can't!" Kate snapped.

"Can't!" Davina fired back, her voice rising. "Can't, can't, can't, can't!" Each time she repeated the word, the shutters all shuddered and a magical wind began to swirl around inside the attic, blowing Davina's hair and dress, Kate's hair and even the curtains to her bed. "I am so sick of that word it makes me want to vomit!" Throwing her hand out, she gestured toward Kate, who screamed and went flying through the air, right through another set of attic windows, the shutters opening by themselves and then closing once more once Kate had gone through them to land somewhere in the Quarter.

Breathing heavily through her nose, Davina picked up the cup of tea and then resumed her spot by the window.

　

"Did you hear that?" One of the tourists asked, having thought she'd heard a scream and the sound of a window shutter slamming closed.

"Hear what?" the tour guide asked, looking toward the convent as well but not seeing anything amiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Stiles and Scott made their first appearance in the prologue, so now we move on to me introducing Jackson Whittemore, who I was originally going to keep as a Kanima, but I couldn't really make it work, so I decided to make him a vampire. More specifically, one of Marcel's daywalkers. He's pretty much going to be replacing Diego, as their temperaments were the same. That's not to say that Diego won't be in this, because he will, just not in the capacity he was on the show. Same goes with Thierry. He'll still be Marcel's best friend, but no longer the right hand man. Instead, that goes to Boyd, who I felt never really got a break on Teen Wolf, so I decided to give him some importance here. He's going to be like a son to Marcel, the same way Marcel was to Klaus, and he's going to be a vampire, having been made by Marcel back in the day.
> 
> Oh, and at the end... Kate. Yeah, that's Kate Argent. But I'm not going to spoil the surprise as to how she got there. 
> 
> Also, sadly, I had to cut out Katherine because I wanted this to have as little to do with The Vampire Diaries as possible. I did manage to throw in a reference to her in there but all the scenes between her and Elijah and her and Rebekah were removed. 
> 
> Oh, and in

**Author's Note:**

> Please read and review. If I don't think people are going to read it, I won't waste my time typing it all up and posting it on here. I need to be motivated!


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